


Pots, Kettles

by generalsleepy



Series: Tumblr POTO Prompts [10]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Musical References, Self-Esteem Issues, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalsleepy/pseuds/generalsleepy
Summary: Erik wants to hear Raoul sing.





	Pots, Kettles

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "raoul never sings in front of erik because he thinks his voice is bad but erik secretly listens in on him singing to christine and says that his voice isnt half bad and with a lot of work he could be a decent tenor."

It took Erik a moment to realize what the soft sond gliding just barely over the music was. He looked up from the bowl he was mixing to watch Raoul sitting at at the kitchen table, nose buried in his textbook as he twisted a strand of hair around his pen. His lips were moving and his leg bouncing in time with the song. Erik could just barely make out him singing.

“ _...Morning, good morning. We’ve talked the whole night through. Good morning, good morning, to you…_ ”

Erik’s hand darted out to press pause on Spotify on Raoul’s phone.

“ _...When the band began to play the stars were_ —” Raoul’s head snapped up to look at Erik. “What’s up?”

“I just never get to hear you sing.”

Raoul winced and turned back to his book. “Oh, god, was I really doing that out loud?”

“Yes. It sounded lovely.”

“No it absolutely did not.” Raoul unwound the pen he apparently had forgotten was still stuck in his hair. “I’m literally the worst singer _ever_.”

“That is patently untrue. You sounded perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, when I had Debbie Reynolds covering for me. Then you went and betrayed me.”

Erik laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Really? _I’m_ dramatic?”

Erik waved his hands. “All right, All right. Pots, kettles, understood.” He walked to the table and sat down. “You really aren’t a terrible singer, though.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my boyfriend, you have to say that.”

“I do not. I criticize you all the time. For example your horrible taste in movies.”

“ _Last Jedi_ was fun,” Raoul insisted. “Rose is awesome. John Boyega is great.”

“It was poorly structured, inconsistent in tone, and out of character.”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it. You’re critical of pretty much everything.”

“Then you accept that I'm right about your singing.”

He shook his head. “There are limits.”

“Sing for me,” Erik implored.

“No way.”

He propped an elbow up on the table and pouted. “If you don’t sing for me, I won’t let you lick the cake batter.”

“I’m not _that_ much younger than you,” Raoul said, even though Erik knew the threat carried more weight than he was willing to admit

“Come on.” Erik put a hand on Raoul’s thigh. “Please?”

“Nope. And, I have to study for this quiz.”

Erik sighed, realizing that he wasn’t going to get any further, at least not that night. When Raoul got it into his head that he was bad at something or had done something wrong, those thoughts were difficult to dislodge. Singing ability at least wasn’t something actually important to his self-esteem, like Raoul’s occasional bursts of being convinced he annoyed everyone he encountered and everyone was just pretending to tolerate him. Erik still didn’t like it, though.

He begrudgingly went back to his baking, while Raoul turned his full attention to the textbook. The playlist of Golden Age Hollywood musical numbers (Raoul’s favorites, and while Erik didn’t particularly enjoy them, he was nothing if not indulgent) moved on to the next song. Sneaking not-too-carefully hidden glances at Raoul as he worked, Erik began singing along to “Cheek to Cheek.” He hoped the ploy would lull him into unconsciously joining in. Raoul’s mouth remained firmly shut, though.

Erik was apparently feeling more petty than indulgent, however, because as soon as the song was over, he switched it over to a recording of _Tannhäuser_. He knew Raoul liked opera well enough, especially Mozart, but hated Wagner. Raoul only snorted in amusement at the blatant attempt at provocation without looking up from his notes. Erik tried to glare, but ended up just more or less just pouting again.

After the cake was in the oven, Erik brought the bowl to the table and let Raoul lick the spoon and spatula. But he wasn’t happy about it.

**

_Christine coming over to work on poli sci project. About 5to7ish. Love you!_

Followed by the bevy of emojis that Raoul insisted on ending all of his texts with.

 _All right. I love you_ , Erik sent back.

He was going to spend the day in the office he rented to do his composing in. Although, he’d managed to stem some of his antisocial tendencies with Raoul’s help, he still found a solitary environment was the best for his work. He could also be rather… Raoul described it as “prickly” while Daroga went with “an utter asshole,” while he was working.

He decided that he would wait until a bit after seven to head home. It wasn’t that he had any problem with Christine; he just found himself feeling awkward around her and Raoul together. The two had been close friends as children and interacted with each other as Erik imagined siblings did, giggling over shared jokes and even finishing each other's sentences sometimes. If he was going to psychoanalyze himself, he supposed that it was a mixture of self-consciousness at his own social ineptitude and a strain of jealousy which he was not proud of.

Raoul sent back a heart, a thumbs up, and a cat face that he insisted on sending every other text, because he said he thought it looked “friendly.”

Sometimes the generational gap really was blinding.

Hours later, he reached what he thought was an acceptable point to pause (before Raoul, he could easily spend twenty-four hours or more buried in his work; the thought of Raoul was a reminder of the fact there was in fact a world outside of music) at a quarter to seven. He thought that by the time he got back to his and Raoul’s house, Christine would either be gone or in the process of leaving.

Raoul had not _entirely_ weaned him off of his antisocial tendencies.

When he pulled into the driveway, he found Christine’s bicycle locked to their mailbox. He supposed that he should at least be grateful Raoul had heeded his repeated instructions _not_ to allow her leave the bicycle inside the house. Still, he glared at it as he went through the front door.

He didn’t find them in the living room, so he next headed to Raoul’s room.

The _guest room_ , he reminded himself. When he had asked Raoul to move in with him, he’d assured him that he would have his own room. He had been surprised when Raoul had looked hurt, rather than relieved. It had taken about three days before Raoul managed to communicate that he hated to think Erik wanted to keep him at arm’s length. Erik explained that that he assumed Raoul would want privacy, and that he knew he could be terrible company that Raoul would want to take occasional breaks from. Raoul had finally looked relieved when he made clear that he loved Erik’s company and absolutely wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. They’d shared the same bed since then.

Now the guest room was only used when Raoul had Christine over, or occasionally when she stayed the night.

Out of habit, he didn’t announce himself as he approached the door. He stepped quietly enough that he was able to hear the voice, muffled by the door, but still clearly audible.

“ _Just don’t need it in my life. Don’t want any part of it. I don’t do sadness. Hey, I’ve done my time, looking back on it all, man, blows my mind_.”

That was indeed Raoul de Chagny singing in his lovely, clear, very much not terrible voice. On one hand, Erik wanted to continue listening. But more than that, he wanted to prove a point. He opened the door.

“ _Just don’t care…_ ” Two pairs of eyes looked up at him. One was a bit surprised but otherwise casual. The other went wide with shock and desperate embarrassment.

“Hello. You’re still here.”

“Good evening to you too, Erik. I didn’t know I was on a schedule.” They were both sitting on the bed, surrounded by books and notebooks, hunched over Christine’s laptop.

“I told him you’d be gone by sevenish. You know he likes things to be predictable. Hello, Erik.” Raoul smiled, but it had a miserable note that made it clear he both knew that Erik had heard him and knew that there was no way he would just let that go.

“Do you two usually have sing-alongs when you’re alone?” he asked conversationally as he stepped inside.

“When the mood strikes. We’ve both been listening to _Spring Awakening_ on repeat for weeks, so, you know.” She shrugged. “It’s more interesting than this Powerpoint.

“Christine, what would you say about Raoul’s voice?”

Raoul buried his face in his hands.

Christine looked confused. “His voice? I mean, it’s perfectly fine. He’s obviously not trained or anything, but he’s got natural talent and a good ear. Why?”

“Not the worst voice you’ve ever heard?”

She scoffed. “Definitely not.”

Raoul was still hiding his face. “Christine…” he whined.

“What?” She looked back up at Erik, with a look that asked both what was happening and what Erik had done. Her natural assumption was that Erik had done something.

“Raoul insists to me that he’s the worst singer to ever produce a single note.”

Raoul looked back up. “I _am_.”

“You are not, you doof,” Christine said. “Raoul, you insist that you’re the worst at everything. You have a drawer of medals, but you still sometimes go on about how you’re not all that great of a swimmer.”

“And you are very much not,” Erik added. “The worst at swimming or singing _or_ certainly not the worst at everything.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll sing for her, but not for me?”

“We were kids together. I can’t embarrass myself in front of her anymore than I already have.”

“Not when I already know you owned every Jonas Brothers album and kept a poster under your bed,” she said with a malicious smile.

“And, you used to read _Naruto_ constantly.”

“You did too.”

“I only did because you did. And I wasn’t the one who had a notebook filled with fanart I printed off of DeviantArt.”

She pointed a finger at him with lethal intensity. “I swear I could _literally_ murder you right now.”

Erik had that uncomfortable feeling he got when Raoul and Christine were absorbed in one of their private conversations he had no part of. “I’d hoped by now you wouldn’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me either,” he said.

Christine closed the laptop and started gathering up some of the books. “I think I’d better get going. See you on Tuesday, Raoul.”

“Bye, Christine,” Raoul said, looking like he wished he could grab and hold onto her, so that he and Erik wouldn’t be alone.

“Goodbye, Erik,” she said with a wave, as she walked past him.

“Good evening, Miss Daaé.” Once she was gone, he turned his attention back to Raoul. “I’m sorry if I have ever made you feel embarrassed,” he said, a very different kind of awkwardness creeping in.

“You haven’t. It’s just that… I’m really not a good singer, and I know that music is important to you, and I just… I don’t know.” He looked down and picked at a loose thread on the hem of his jeans.

“It’s alright.” he sat beside Raoul on the bed. Hesitating, not wanting to move without permission, he put a hand on Raoul’s shoulder.

“I guess I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just that… I got teased a lot for my voice when I was kid, and I just don’t like singing around anyone except Christine. It’s not that I think you’re going to make fun of me or anything, but… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Erik could have equally sighed or laughed. Raoul collected insecurities as often and as many as he seemingly could, letting even something as minor as a “bad” singing voice bother him.

 _Pots, kettles_ , he mentally chided himself. No wonder they made such a good couple.

“Raoul, whoever bullied you about your voice was just looking for reasons to tease you, just to hurt you. I promise you—and now you know I’m not the only one to say so—if you had maybe a year or so of serious training, you could hold your own as a professional singer. Please, trust me. I love you, and I would never lie to you. And, even if you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket—which, to be clear, is not the case—I would still want to hear you sing. I would still love everything about you.”

Erik realized he had just made one of those long, melodramatic speeches Daroga said that he was prone to and were not conducive for acting “normal.”

Raoul was looking up at him though, and slowly smiled. “You really mean that.”

To Erik’s relief, it was a statement of certainty, not a question. He nodded. “Of course. I love you, Raoul. More than anything in this world.” He hesitated again, longer this time. Then, he leaned down and kissed Raoul softly on the lips.

He hardly ever initiated kisses with his boyfriend. He still had trouble believing there was anyone on this earth who would _want_ to kiss him, as much as Raoul insisted that wasn’t the case. At this moment, though, it felt like kissing Raoul was the only thing to do in the circumstances.

Raoul leaned into the kiss, and when he pulled away he was smiling. “Thanks, Erik. I love you, too. I know sometimes I just get all…”

Erik kissed him again before he could start in on anything negative about himself. He ran his fingers through Raoul’s long, silky hair. Raoul placed a gentle hand on Erik’s cheek—that was something he would never get used to.  

They broke apart for Erik to lazily drape himself across the bed. “Raoul?”

“Hm?”

“Sing for me?”

Raoul sighed and rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Anything in particular?”

“Anything that you want to.”

Raoul was silent for a while. For a moment, Erik thought that embarrassment had taken hold of him again. Then, he began singing in a soft, but clear voice, “ _Ten minutes ago I saw you. I looked up when you came through the door. My head started reeling. You gave me the feeling…_ ”

Erik smiled. Of course, Raoul would pick something as corny as possible; unabashed corniness was part of his charm, though. And, as long as Raoul trusted him enough to sing for him, Erik was happy. Happier than he’d ever imagined he could be.

He could almost laugh; and he called Raoul corny. Pots and kettles, both of them. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs used:
> 
> "Good Morning" _Singin' in the Rain_
> 
> "Don't Do Sadness" _Spring Awakening_
> 
> "Ten Minutes _Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella_


End file.
